


The Lies We Told

by winterseaspray



Category: The Sandman
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 19:16:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterseaspray/pseuds/winterseaspray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are red flowers growing on a hill on an island in Greece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lies We Told

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat/gifts).



“Children never understand what they require of their parents,” Death said, leaning back against the wall that a few minutes ago had simply been air. Dream was playing with the space, adjusting the walls to his whim, which meant that at any moment the wall could become air again, but his expression was dark still and until she had talked him out of it, she wasn’t sure she could leave.

“Orpheus has decided what he has decided,” Dream said. “I will have nothing to do with it.”

“He’s your son Dream, you have to do something about him,” Death said. She did not want to get between the two of them. Her loyalties lay with Dream, but if Orpheus asked for something, she could not deny him – he was, after all, mortal, while Dream was not. Dream reached out and dissolved the wall she was leaning on, making her teeter ungracefully for a moment.

“Sister, you know what will and what is. Orpheus will as he will,” Dream said. With another gesture he brought a wall into existence.

“Sure I know,” Death said, flicking a strand of hair out of her face. “I just would rather not know sometimes.”

Dream looked at her, and for a moment Death saw what would happen – Dream on a hill, his arms red with blood, lost in the pain of what he had been forced to do. If Morpheus would just step in, this future could be averted. But it was not his duty to do so – he was the King of Dreams, and his mortal son was not asking for anything Dream could procure.

“Has he asked you?” he asked finally.

Death shook her head. “No,” she replied. _Not yet._

“Then it is not your concern, Sister. Put it from your mind.”

 

*

 

“Dream?”

There was no response. The room was dark, and quiet. The way Death’s voice echoed in the room seemed to indicate it was also empty – but as with many things in Dreaming, sights, and sounds, could be deceiving.

“Dream, Matthew told me you were in here,” Death said. There was again no sound but her own voice reflected back to her. Death began to walk. The Dreaming had never frightened her – not that anything could really frighten her – but there were hints, flutterings in the corner of her eyes, that were supposed to be frightening: the nightmares that flickered at the corner of every conscious beings mind. But Death had seen everything there and while some were frightened of the shadows, she had seen that they were afraid of her too.

She frowned. “Nice try Dream,” she called, “But I don’t frighten that easily.”

There was a sound ahead; a choking rasp. Death frowned. “Dream, stop it. I’m getting bored of this.” But the rasp came again – the sound of someone crying. Death waited, standing in the darkness. Dream did not cry – he would not cry; too proud and pigheaded to do something like that. The sound echoed, doubling itself over and over again, making the world seem to pound with the horrible rasping cry.

“Enough,” Death said.

There was suddenly silence.

The darkness eased. A wing backed chair appeared in silhouette against the orange glow of a fire. In the dim illumination, the room grew larger and larger revealing a high ceiling and windows in black drapes. Dream sat in the chair, his long pale fingers twisting as if to make something.

“Well that was an overdramatic entry,” Death said, coming over to the chair. Her brother was dressed formally, with a dark robe over his pale skin, his eyes in shadow.

“You were the one that came to me, Sister,” Dream said. His voice was cool as ever, but there was a chill over laying the words that made Death lift her eyebrows.

“No need to get snippy with me Brother,” she said. “Matthew was worried, so I came to see you. Banished another girlfriend to hell?”

Dream’s eyes flashed suddenly and he looked up at her. “You did it, did you not?”

Death frowned, trying to figure out what she had done. “Uh… What?”

Dream got up and brushed past her, going to stand before the fire. Death turned, wondering what it was that Dream could be referring to. There had been a few deaths in the Dreaming, but he was aware as much as she was that she rarely brought death to people – their time came and she went to them to ease the passing.

“What did I do?”

“Orpheus,” Dream said.

Death looked down at her feet. “Well, yes,” she said finally. “He’s mortal, after all.”

“Does he know the price?”

Death swallowed. “I showed him.”

“Well,” Dream said. “We all have our duties. Another one has been laid to me.” He turned and walked out of the room. Death tried to follow him, but when she reached the door, it had already opened out of the Dreaming.

 

*

 

There are red flowers growing on a hill on an island in Greece. Death picks one as she goes to see Orpheus one last time. The flowers bloom because Orpheus is (was) of the family blood, and because one he was happy here, once he played music here.

Dream is gone. Delirium and Despair have left. The mortals who buried the head of Orpheus have climbed down the hill and are now having supper. Death will return soon for the old man, but for now, she is here to collect her nephew.

Orpheus lies on the hill by where his life ended. His body leaves no indentation in the grass, though he lies fully reclined. Death puts a flower in her hair and stops before the man. He looks young – younger then when he was ripped apart. He looks peaceful, for the first time since Eurydice died.

“I wondered why I was still here,” Orpheus says finally. “Though I like having a body again.”

“I bet your nose got itchy without hands to itch it,” Death says.

“Yeah,” Orpheus says, and almost as if the words had caused it, he reaches up and scratches his nose. “What’s next Aunt?”

Death looks out across the sea. She has been there when Orpheus was born twice, and on his death she should have been there doubly so again, but instead it is just her, performing her duty. “You’ll get to see soon."

Orpheus sits up. “So you will take me now?”

“I can’t take you anywhere. I can tell you where to go though,” Death says. She points out towards the sun. “Just follow the path there.”

“And don’t look back?”

“Look back as much as you want,” Death says. She hesitates and then says: “And remember what your father did for you.”

She has turned and started away when a fleeting whisper of a hand touches hers. Orpheus looks worried. “Will he take this hard Aunt?”

“He killed his own child Orpheus, how do you think he will take it?”

“It was his duty.”

“That you laid on him. Not all tasks we are committed to doing are things we want to do,” Death says

Orpheus looks down. “It won’t ruin him, will it?”

Death shakes her head. “Orpheus, follow the path before it disappears.” The lie was on her lips, but she can not – will not – say it.

And so Orpheus leaves this life, to go on to the next, leaving Death to stand on the edge of the cliffs. She can’t answer Orpheus’s question, though she know the answer.

“Yes,” she tells no one. “Yes, it will ruin him.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I always try to challenge myself when writing, but this was probably the most challenging fandom I selected to write for, amusingly? Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it! Happy yuletide!


End file.
